Black and Gray
by VulkansNodosaurus
Summary: What does a Tomb Spyder dream of? Written August 2011.


Its black feet lifted up to the ground, exiting the tunnel. The mechanical joints stretched as it prepared for takeoff. Then, in a moment, it was afloat.

The cryptek had ordered it to exterminate the flesh-balls to the north, stranded in the tundra bastion. It could not do that alone, so three other Tomb Spyders had been called to it. Together, they would break the weak walls that stood in their way.

Blackcenter led, and Doomknower and Endtoucher followed. It went behind them, at the back vertex of the rhombus. The defenses- pathetic, gray and white, almost collapsing already- rose ahead.

This was a small place, holding perhaps a few dozen enemies. Fifteen of those stood on the walls now, shooting the approaching machines. It ignored the assault: the shots were too weak to even stretch its armor.

It knew the real battle was to the south, in the endless deserts and mountains. There, the crawlers had crafted actual defenses. There, their pathetic "life" could endure for some time yet.

Yet for all of that, it did not mind being here.

Cannon blasts rang, and the wall split wide open. Death would come.

Blackcenter was pummeled by falling rocks. It responded, of course, by destroying the matter. Tiny fingers in the leader's legs crushed pieces of rock, small gauss guns erasing others from existence. It brought satisfaction to Blackcenter- not pleasure, for that was an emotion of the flesh, but satisfaction.

The cryptek said it was an error in Blackcenter's mind- that over the millions of years spent in statis, the boundary between blood-flesh and water-rock had decayed to nothingness. It believed the cryptek, not because that was ingrained in its engrams- there, only loyalty was placed- but because it had witnessed Blackcenter's destruction of objects like the wall.

A cannon from the fort's center hit Endtoucher. The silverstripe collapsed to the ground before struggling up to its feet again. Endtoucher would not be able to fly until repaired, but in the end it hoped Endtoucher would be fixed. They had the most interesting mind-contacts.

Blackcenter continued smashing apart the wall; Doomknower joined it in blasting away the cannon. The defenders' last resort exploded, its operators scrambling away. Doomknower stared with some interest: Doomknower was always interested, both in endings and beginnings.

It ignored the explosion and headed to the wall. One of the smaller flesh-chunks aimed his gun at it, managing a near-impossible shot. One of its legs flew off.

It continued.

The right front and middle legs slammed into the foe in full force, smashing the shooter off his foothold. They hovered above, about to deliver the finishing blow.

Then, a link-message came from the cryptek.

"Statement: future: shard arrives. Order: present: negative- you kill flesh-beings. Order: present: you copy to squad."

The second part passed by its brain without affecting it. The Great Shard was coming.

Some life called it a piece of the Nightbringer, a god of death. There was no way to oppose it or defeat it. It ended existence of those who still had it, and encouraged the not-existence of those who had that.

The shard was coming here.

The shard would devour the living, adding their energy to its own. It imagined the master taking this flesh-being and sucking the very life out of it, turning any trace of the defiance and precision that had characterized this young one in life into black stripes of its power.

The second part of the order had slipped by. In an unconscious way, perhaps that section had influenced the scenario that had appeared in its circuits, but the scenario had not pleased it. Thus, it pushed forward.

Small claws extended from its legs, and it turned to face its foe. In the back of its many-eyed head, a transmitter copied the cryptek's message to Doomknower, who was obliterating the few that had fled the cannon's end, and Blackcenter, who was finally done with the wall and moving to join the main battle. Endtoucher, too, received the news, though the silverstripe was now crawling away from the massacre.

In the front of its head, though, an entirely different focus emerged. Claws stuck down, and the boy found his head pierced by an infinitely sharp claw. His blood and life spilled out, forever denied to the Nightbringer. His death was quick, unlike what the Nightbringer would have given him.

To some, this would have been an act of mercy. To it, it was a matter of ignoring orders.

Too late, the second portion of the command swam up, finally registering in its central wiring. Yet those orders had already been disobeyed, broken by deathlust. It thought about bearing the mistake in eternal shame, but then it decided it didn't care.

Deathlust. That would be a good name for it.

It named itself, automatically inscribing the hieroglyphs into the back of its skull. It did not forward the middle portion of the command to the other Spyders- only its new name. Then, Deathlust selected a new target and fired its particle projector.

The flesh disintegrated under the machines' onslaught. The defenders could save themselves no longer, and one by one they collapsed. Some ran, but Deathlust knew they would be ended soon, if not by the masters then by the cold. Others met the bodies and legs of the Tomb Spyders. Despair gripped all of them- they knew they could no longer win.

The human defenders of Gare Fort could only plead for mercy.

Unknowingly, the Tomb Spyders gave it.


End file.
